Cat and Mouse
by LimerySnicket
Summary: Crawford allows himself to be captured by Weiss. Escaping isn't as easy as he planned.
1. Capture

Nagi wasn't fast enough. Usually, that was ok. Usually it came down to perspective; Nagi couldn't move faster, but he could slow everything else around him down. Tonight, visibility was low. Tonight, the blare of sirens made it impossible to hear anything else. It frustrated Crawford to no end that his teammates were limited to their senses at a singular point in time.

Weiss was going to strike soon. Nagi wasn't going to be fast enough. Crawford had foreseen it, and this was the preferable situation. Such was life.

"We will run on my count," Crawford told him, looking down at his watch.

"Hai," Nagi said.

"3…"

The disc popped out, and Nagi grabbed it, crushing the now-useless computer with his gift.

"2..."

The power flicked off, plunging the building into complete darkness: perfect timing, as always. Crawford smirked.

"1."

Crawford grabbed Nagi's wrist and yanked him into the depths of the darkness. Nagi didn't like being touched, but he didn't protest. He wouldn't be able to navigate the room without Crawford's guidance; he couldn't See except the darkness in front of his eyes. Crawford pulled them out of the office and out into the hall. Weiss was waiting here, in the shadows. The chase would begin soon.

Two doors down on the right was the stairwell. Crawford gripped Nagi's wrist tighter and ran as fast as the slow child allowed. It was beginning. In his mind's eye he could see Abyssinian and Balinese burst out from their hiding place. Nagi was already out of breath.

"Doors," Crawford said, and the doors to the stairwell crashed open with Nagi's gift. Crawford didn't slow on his way down the stairs, but when Nagi slammed the door shut in Balinese's face, he stopped for a second to hoist Nagi up over his shoulder.

Nagi grunted with surprise: "I-", but he swallowed his protest. Nagi hated this, Crawford knew, but even with a person over his shoulder Crawford was faster than Nagi.

"Let go of the door," Crawford said as he leapt down the stairs. He knew Nagi must've been confused by the request, but the boy followed his orders without question. They had enough of a lead for now and Crawford kept a good pace.

They were three flights down when they heard Siberian and Bombay catch up for the chase. Things changed now that Bombay was here, the only member of Weiss decent at a distance weapon. "Get the emergency lights," Crawford said, and Nagi let his gift flick up the spiral of the stairs to turn off the lights.

"On my call," Crawford panted, "You will put up a force field above us for two counts and bring it down again."

That was too odd for Nagi to let go. "I can hold it the whole time," he said, still avoiding a direct question.

"Now," Crawford said, and Nagi put up an invisible barrier in enough time to hear a dart sink into it and stop mid-air. "You need to save your energy," he said, by way of explanation.

So they continued, silence only broken by Crawford's occasional order for shielding. Finally, they reached the end of the stairwell. It led to a door that Crawford knew would be locked. Instead he whipped around and ducked underneath the stairs. Another, secret door was nestled neatly there, locked as well. Nagi slipped off Crawford as he was hunched over.

"Door," Crawford breathed, quietly. Nagi's gift crumpled the door into a metal ball, and Crawford pushed him through the opening. When they were both through, Crawford scooped Nagi into his arms and began running through the darkened tunnel.

He was almost there when he heard Weiss' footsteps echoing behind them. He knew it would happen, yet his stomach twanged in anticipation. The tunnel ended abruptly at a ledge. Without warning, Crawford threw Nagi into the hole.

"Ah," Nagi grunted, getting to his feet and looking at the ground. "Is this…?"

Light blared from the right, painting half of his body gold and white.

"Crawford!" Nagi's deep blue eyes were wide and bore into his own. A horn blared: too loud, too close.

Crawford dealt with fear on a daily basis, but as much as he hated to admit it, seeing fear in Nagi's eyes made his skin crawl. He wanted to reach down and pull the boy back out again.

"Make it go around you!" he shouted instead.

Nagi didn't have time to respond, but turned towards the light, determination hardening his features. The last Crawford saw of him was the ripple of brown hair and then the subway filled his vision. The clacking over the tracks drowned out Weiss's footsteps.

Crawford slid down the slimy tunnel wall to sit, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. This is how the story ended: Nagi would let the particles of the subway seamlessly stretch around him, Schuldig would be on board waiting to catch him and wipe the minds of the witnesses, and they would ride home, disc in tow. It would drain Nagi to do such rapid manipulation on the molecular level, but he could do it. Crawford let a smile creep onto his face. The boy was powerful. Soon, he'd be able to teleport and being slow would be as irrelevant as ever.

Crawford's smile slipped off his face when he felt four blades prick his neck. Siberian, the fastest of Weiss, had arrived, and was leering over him. The time had come.

"Hello, Siberian," he said calmly, holding his palms out to show he was unarmed.

"Don't move," the other assassin hissed, sweat dripping down his chin. His night-vision goggles glinted eerily in the flickering light from the subway.

They remained motionless until it had passed, and Crawford's eyes flicked to the tracks, looking for a smear of blood he knew wouldn't be there.

Footsteps clattered to a stop as the rest of Weiss arrived. Crawford didn't need Schuldig's power to tell they didn't know what to make of his passive stance.

"You're outnumbered, Schwarz," Balinese finally spat out, using his famed power of deduction. Crawford refused to roll his eyes.

"Drop your weapons," Bombay said, a little more intelligently.

"I have none," Crawford said, "Frisk me if you like."

They murmured to themselves, before Balinese stepped forward, pulling out a length of wire. "Hands out, Schwarz; we're binding you."

And so Crawford found his cheek against the wet stone wall and his hands wound tightly behind his back. Abyssinian held a sword to his neck as Siberian roughly patted him down.

"Spread your legs," Siberian said gruffly.

Crawford complied with dread. "Please be-," he started, hoping the future was not set in stone, "shit!" he ended involuntarily as Siberian was not at all gentle between his legs. At his wince, Abyssinian nicked his neck in warning.

Balinese couldn't hold in a snicker. Because the man was an adult and testicles were still funny. Idiot.

"He doesn't have anything," Siberian confirmed, sitting back on his heels and flipping open Crawford's wallet to examine the contents.

"What about the CD?" Bombay asked.

"Negative."

"Well then," Bombay sighed, "Now what?"

"I'll kill him," Abyssinian offered.

"We could tie his legs up and leave him on the tracks," Siberian said absently, tucking Crawford's money into his pocket, "Let the fates decide. That's his thing, right?"

"Nn," Bombay said, shaking his head, "We should bring him in to Manx and see what she says."

The others agreed, and they turned towards him, trying to figure out the logistics. Crawford closed his eyes and waited for the blunt end of Abyssinian's sword.

He woke up in a white room: white walls, white ceiling, white linoleum floor.

This was wrong.

Of course, Crawford's gift wasn't a perfect thing. The world was full of possibilities that were ever shifting.

Crawford struggled to his feet; his hands were still bound. The room was completely bare. The door was classic jail-door iron bars, plastered in a coat of cheap white paint.

He went up to the door and peered out. There was a lounge with a few soft chairs and couches scattered around an otherwise bland room. To the far left he could see an open doorway that appeared to lead to a kitchen. Almost directly across from him, a little to the left, was a stairway leading up. His cell had no windows. He wondered if he was underground. That shouldn't be too hard to See, he noted, but at a later time. His head was killing him.

Belatedly he noticed Balinese snoozing on a couch. Crawford coughed loudly, and Balinese sat up lightning fast, head whipping towards him. Crawford rested his chin on the cross bar of the door, pretending to be obscenely bored.

"Bathroom?" he asked.

Balinese chose to ignore him, but strode out of the room. Crawford Saw that he was going to fetch Manx and the rest of Weiss.

They all clomped downstairs less than a minute later, Manx at the head of the pack.

"Schwarz," she said, clipping over to him in red high heels, "Glad to see you're up,"

"Thank you, Ms. Manx. Interesting accommodations; I presume headquarters are out of commission?"

Manx thought she hid her surprise in a smirk. "Who says this isn't our headquarters?"

Crawford smiled politely, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Perhaps you forgot I am Gifted? And as much we all would like for Kritiker to amount to _this_," he gestured with a nod of his head to the dilapidated sitting room, "I suspect reality isn't so sweet."

Manx narrowed her eyes and said nothing. Weiss shifted uncomfortably behind her.

After a few beats of silence and his head still pounding, Crawford was losing his patience. "Well, Ms. Manx, I'm ready to talk business when you are."

Manx didn't like that he was guiding the conversation, but it served her right. She slid a sharp red nail under his chin, "How about we get you undressed, then?"

She was trying re-instate her authority by making him uncomfortable. Crawford gave her credit for trying. "You'll do the honors, I hope?" he whispered, meeting her eyes easily. Two could play at this game.

Manx rolled her eyes and took a step back. "Don't flatter yourself. Siberian? Abyssinian?"

The two assassins came forward and Crawford noted the gray lump of cloth balled up in Siberian's fist. Abyssinian twirled a pair of handcuffs from his effeminate fingers, katana weighing down his hip.

"Put your back against the door," the redheaded man ordered, and Crawford complied, pressing his shoulder blades against the vertical bars. He swallowed a shiver when he heard the man draw his sword, but there was only a hand at his wrists and a snap as the wire binding him was cut. Crawford debating whipping around and grabbing the man's neck through the bars just because he could, but he knew ultimately it wouldn't lead to anything, at least not with the rest of Weiss there. He settled for slowly turning to face the men, careful to keep his face impassive.

Siberian dangled his new uniform at him an arm's length away from the door. He wasn't as dumb as he looked, that one. Crawford had to stretch a hand out as far as he could through the bars to grab the pile with his fingertips. Pulling the cloth into the cell, he discovered they were a plain grey pair of sweatpants and a matching hooded sweatshirt. "Get dressed," Siberian said, as if he hadn't figured that part out.

Five pairs of eyes stared at him intently. Surely this was a waste of human resources. There wasn't much he could do from inside of his cage. He loosened his tie and met their eyes with a smirk. "I've never put on a show in quite this setting before. Sure the bars are kinky, but the lighting and atmosphere could use a little work, huh?" They couldn't leave now, not when he had been so deliberately antagonistic, but Bombay couldn't hide his deep blush, and the other four looked distinctly uncomfortable. Brad's smile was genuine this time and he licked his lips as he started to unbutton his shirt.

That was enough for Manx. "I've got better things to do," she huffed, heels clicking as she stalked away.

"Yeah, me too!" Bombay said, a little too obviously. There was a beat of silence in which the boy seemed to realize this, and he grabbed Abyssinian's arm. "I'd like to talk with you about that other project before it gets too late."

"Hn." Abyssinian hummed in nonchalance. "Let's go, then." He pressed the handcuffs he had been playing with into Balinese's hand.

And then there were two. Balinese fake-smiled and waggled his eyebrows._ I'm not afraid of you_, his eyes said. Siberian stared at Crawford with steely determination, refusing to be intimidated. "Hurry up, Schwarz. We had hoped you wouldn't need encouragement, but you will be _helped_ if necessary." The threat was clear enough in his tone, but Crawford heard the hiss of his bugnuks and knew they had been drawn.

Way to ruin the moment, Siberian- but he wouldn't be intimidated. Crawford was already Seeing the futures guide him in the right direction. He stepped right up close to his barred door and continued his slow, sensual strip of his upper half. Not too dramatic; he didn't need any bugnuks involved. Just enough to annoy them.

"Step back and turn around," Balinese said, barring his teeth, "We have no interest in your seeing your dick."

"Speak for yourself," Crawford said, shooting Siberian a quick glance. He was already out of reach and laughing by the time Siberian reacted, be-clawed arms waving through the bars.

Crawford turned away to finish the last button on his shirt and sat down on the floor to untie his shoes. Perfect. Old tricks from Rosenkruez, actually. Annoy, don't incite. Distract, don't bring attention to yourself. It was a delicate balance, and didn't last long, but it was the closest thing to privacy he'd get. While they were stewing over his words from a minute ago, they wouldn't notice the subtle motions he took to move his watch from his wrist to his ankle and tuck it under his sock. He was less worried about them noticing a lumpy sock in the pants exchange; they'd be too distracted by his ass.

He finished by peeling off his socks to leave his watch safely hidden under the elastic-banded cuffs of his new sweatpants. Almost too easy. Crawford gathered up his old clothes and shoved them through the bars. Siberian and Balinese didn't take them immediately so he let them drop to the floor.

"All set?" he asked politely.

Balinese snorted, "Not so fast, Schwarz. We got another present for you." He jangled the handcuffs against his cell door, "Come and get it."

Another ill-thought-out plan by Weiss. Crawford only complied because he could See the alternative, which involved a full on attack by all four of Weiss, resulting not only in more injury to his person, but also the discovery of his hidden watch. It was awkward to put his hands through the same gap between bars, but Balinese made quick work. Just as Crawford was about to pull away, Balinese grabbed his wrist again and yanked his arms through the bars. Crawford glared; that was definitely going to leave bruises.

"Sorry, Schwarz, but you can't have those," Balinese said, nodding at his glasses.

Siberian leaned in too close and snagged Crawford's glasses with a mocking gentleness. The urge to head-butt him was incredible. When he was released by Weiss, they all took a step away from the door.

"Bathroom?" he asked after a moment of staring.

Siberian let out an aggravated sound and grabbed Balinese by the elbow. "Let's get out of here; I'm sick of having to look at that freak." They left without another glance, out and up the stairs. For the first time, Crawford was left alone in his new home.

Luckily he didn't actually have to use the bathroom.

Yet.


	2. Bathroom Break

Day 1.

So. This is what he knew:

1. Something had happened at Kritiker's headquarters which his Gift hadn't foreseen, rendering him to some unknown location.

2. Weiss was still afraid of him, despite his obvious vulnerability. He gathered this from the fact that they had waited for him to wake and change himself rather than do the task themselves as he slept.

That wasn't much to create a new escape plan with. For one, he had no idea where he was, and neither did his teammates… not to mention they'd be way too busy to come looking for him: Nagi would be completely drained for at least a week after pushing his power to the limit last night, and Schuldig and Farfarello would be busy wrapping up business and setting up for another move.

Crawford paced in circles around his little box of a cell. He guessed it was about six feet by eight feet, which gave him one corner of the room that couldn't easily be seen from his cell door. It wasn't much in terms of privacy, but it was something.

The only egress appeared to be his cell door, since his room was windowless, vent-less, and completely solid. He had tried to nonchalantly inspect it, to no avail; breaking out mechanically had to be dismissed, at least for now.

That meant, to some degree, he'd have to use Weiss as tools.

This was going to make his Gift ache. He still hadn't forgiven Abyssinian for cracking open his head, either. Schuldig would be much more suited for a job like this. Why hadn't he foreseen it? Crawford massaged his temples. Think, Brad.

Quick, agile footsteps down the stairs broke his reverie. Siberian, he already knew, from somewhere between his gut and his Gift. Crawford paused in his loop around the cell to stare through the bars at Siberian's approach.

"Hey, kid," Balinese bleated from his prone position on a ratty couch, "Come to rescue me from Schwarz-duty?"

"Not quite yet," Siberian said, staring at Crawford rather than his lazy teammate. Crawford met his gaze as best as he could, though everything was blurry without his glasses. "Manx wants two of us for Gaijin's first piss."

Balinese groaned and threw an arm over his eyes, "First I get stuck with first shift and now this? You better be grateful, Schwarz."

"Of course," Crawford said smoothly, leaving the sarcastic "I would love to share in this experience with you" unsaid. He had to start ingratiating himself to them, after all.

"We should make him beg," Siberian said, and something was a little off in the way he said it; Crawford could tell by the cold beat of silence in which Balinese sat up and looked at his teammate warily.

"We could," Balinese said, quietly, imploringly. The two members of Weiss stared each other down for another beat before Siberian broke it off to glare at Crawford once again.

"Go on, then, Schwarz," he said, "beg us."

Crawford stifled a smile as he got down to his knees. Idiot. He had lost every fragment of his pride at Rosenkruez a long time ago. This was too easy; it meant nothing. Nothing that he hadn't already given away to someone else, at least. "Please," he said levelly, biting back a dozen dry comments. "I do wish to be treated humanely," he added instead, with the right dose of feeling; just enough to trigger the guilt Crawford knew was lurking under the surface of Siberian's steely glare. Crawford knew he was successful when Siberian averted his eyes.

"Get up, Schwarz," Balinese said, watching Siberian carefully. Crawford stood, and the Weiss boys made their way over to him in silence. "Hands behind your head," Balinese continued; Crawford complied readily, watching Siberian clench his fist to unsheathe his claws as Balinese unlocked the door.

As soon as the door swung open, Siberian pounced toward him and Crawford flinched—such is the consequence of human reflexes. Nonetheless, Siberian seemed taken aback by his response and hesitated ever so slightly as he wrapped his hand around the older man's neck. Interesting. Crawford pretended not to notice.

They guided him out of his cell and Crawford tried to get a better bearing on his surroundings without appearing too obvious. There were no windows anywhere, so he was fairly certain he was underground; the place was shoddily outfitted for a prison—it wasn't likely they went through the trouble to seal windows. He couldn't see any other cells, which reinforced his opinion that it was a haphazard substitute for Kritiker's normal operations.

The bathroom was only a few feet directly to the right of his cell, so he didn't have much time for more inspection. Weiss man-handled him through the door and shoved him in front of the toilet.

"Are you going to do the honors, or shall I?" Crawford asked when Siberian still hadn't released him. Siberian let go like he had been zapped and jumped to hover in front of the door.

"There are still three locked doors between you and the outside, Schwarz," he said, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Good to know.

Crawford stretched his hands above his head, watching Balinese's slight shift to a fighting stance in the corner of his eye. His lips quirked, and he pulled down his pants and took stock of the room. It was completely bare besides for the sink, toilet, and un-curtained shower; nothing that could be used as a weapon, unfortunately.

"Performance anxiety?" Balinese asked, annoyance coloring his smile.

"Never," Crawford said firmly.

When he was finished, he rinsed his hands and turned to face his captors expectantly. His jaunt wasn't as insightful as he hoped, and much too short-lived. He didn't protest when they wrangled him—unnecessary, really—back into his cell.

"Are you going to be ok, today?" Balinese asked Siberian in a low voice before he left. Crawford didn't hear or see Siberian's response but it must have been satisfactory because the two were left alone.

They stared at each other a while before Siberian huffed and threw himself into a cushy sitting chair across from him. Crawford remained where he was; he had a good view of the room and wanted to induce visions.

"Induce" was the wrong word. Crawford simply did not experience the time linearly. His senses were ever present in a thousand futures splintering on top of an achingly long past; the present was smothered somewhere in the middle: a fragile, paper-thin lens that was reality. When he looked into the room ahead of him he could see it built as easily as he could see it destroyed as easily as he could see it as it was. The trick was finding the right moment and tracing its thread through time.

He watched construction workers on their knees, smoothing freshly poured cement. They looked up, and he did too, and he could see clearly—the frame of the building, the general layout, and yes, they were underground, only one storey below the surface. He listened to workers talk about stupid, silly things: wives, personal projects, the weather. He guessed it was the 1950s or so… One of them mentioned it was to be an office building and his mind jerked in response, automatically finding images of men shuffling through stacks of paper—a mailroom, perhaps?

Something impacted his body, and out of reflex his mind reeled, racing through time to find the present. He glanced down at his watch, a training mechanism from Rosenkruez that helped him center himself in time. When he looked up, he was face-to-face with an angry Siberian.

"Stop staring at me."

Paranoid little shit. Crawford shrugged and yawned. "I was sleeping with my eyes open. Don't wake me up next time."

There were a few cardinal rules at Rosenkruez that went against the typical "kill or be killed" mindset and they were:

1. Give a telepath space when he needs it

2. Don't interrupt a clairvoyant's vision

Perusing through time wasn't the easiest thing, after all. For rookies, an interruption might mean being lost in time for an indeterminate period. For Crawford, it meant disorientation and a lingering feeling not unlike panic. He could already feel the prickle of sweat under his arms. He supposed he shouldn't have assumed Siberian would ignore him, but it wasn't as if he'd get any chances in private to consult his Gift.

"Sleeping?" Siberian sneered with suspicion.

Crawford knew Weiss had a vague idea he could "see the future", but it was clear they had no idea what that entailed. So he shrugged and nodded, "Yes, sleeping."

Siberian didn't seem to quite buy it, but he backed away. His twitchiness made Crawford's skin itch, and if it weren't for Balinese's reaction he wouldn't have known it was atypical. Was this relevant information? Could he use it to his advantage?

Crawford was just starting to look with his Gift for what to say when Siberian spoke up of his own accord.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you do any of this?" There was no curiosity in his tone, only accusation. He was only looking for reassurance that Crawford was a bad, bad man.

He was right, of course, but that impression wouldn't do Crawford any favors. "Choice is different for you than for me," Crawford said, "Firstly, you think you have them; I know that I don't. You can only see the means and I can't stop seeing the end. I wanted to be a doctor," just a touch of wistfulness—he didn't want to be dramatic, "I Saw things. I thought that I could—I thought that I _would_ be one. I didn't See hospitals in my future, but I Saw the fights and injuries and I thought I was going to be a military paramedic or something similar. I did not choose to be made into a weapon by Rosenkruez and sold to Essett, but it happened and there was nothing I could do to stop it."

Crawford neglected to say that he had always, always known that he was a murderer. It was true, though, that once upon a time he thought he might be able to inexplicably become a doctor; kids were stupid.

Siberian studied him with something that wavered between hardness and interest. Not a bad start. Crawford's Gift warned him it was coming, but he let Siberian punch him squarely in the gut anyway. While he was doubled over, Siberian grabbed him by the hair to yank his head against the bars.

"No choice?" Siberian said with a hiss, "Schwarz has done terrible things. It's unforgivable! I don't care what you played dress up as when you were a kid, I would rather DIE than do what you've done, you selfish piece of shit." He hadn't let go of Crawford's hair. This was all part of Crawford's vague start of a plan, but Siberian's actions were starting to rile him a little. He actually was human, after all.

"You don't know _anything_ about me," Crawford said, almost by accident. He certainly hadn't planned to sound like a petulant child.

Siberian's laugh was cold. "I know enough." His fierce grip in Crawford's hair didn't let up, but after a while his breathing became a little less manic. He brought up a clawed hand to let the blades prick beneath Crawford's chin. "Some of my teammates think we got lucky catching you, but Balinese and I know better. I don't know what sick plan you had in letting yourself be captured, but let me tell you something: you will not get out of here alive. And I don't know if you were expecting three meals a day, but I'm going to do everything I can to make this hell for you."

Crawford's brief flare of anger faded to annoyance. Siberian's threats were so absurd they lost meaning. Weiss did not have the power they thought they did.

"Your official interrogation begins tomorrow," Siberian continued; apparently he had a bit of a megalomaniac complex, "And I will be there to watch you scream and cry. Hopefully I'll even get to help motivate you."

"You'd love that, wouldn't you? Hearing me scream?" Crawford had meant simply to remind Mr. Holier-than-thou that the behavior might be discordant with his righteous philosophy, but while Siberian let go of his hair (at last) as if he had been burned, his discomfort didn't have quite the right shameful twist. No, there was something else there, in that conflicted blush. Crawford just didn't know what. He planned to use it to his advantage, though.

Siberian seemed lost in thought and Crawford was tired, so he retreated further into his cell. Yes, Schuldig's Gift would make this a lot easier. He needed more alone time with his Gift, playing out scenarios to get a grip on what might be going on in Siberian's head. Crawford sat down against the wall, and pulled his hood up. Through his half-lidded eyes, he could see the blurry figure of Siberian still lingering by his cell door, watching.

"You'll be sorry, Schwarz," Siberian said in a quiet, dangerous way.

"Crawford," Crawford corrected him, "Brad Crawford. It was nice to meet you, Siberian. I'm glad we talked."

Crawford couldn't see well enough without his glasses to tell for sure, but he was fairly certain he'd flabbergasted the younger man. Satisfied at the thought, Crawford let his eyes close and… drifted… off… to sleep.


End file.
